


Insights

by irrevocably-johnlocked (AurielleDawn)



Series: First Times [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Working out their relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 16:13:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AurielleDawn/pseuds/irrevocably-johnlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has some questions after Sherlock's confession.</p><p>***</p><p>When he’s settled back in his seat, I ask the other question, the one that’s been nagging at me.  “And what about me, then?”  He looks up at me, going still.  “How long have you known how <em>I</em> felt?”  Because he does, I’ve realized.  Of course he does.  When I continue, my voice is low.  “Did you know before you let me believe you were dead for two years?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insights

We’re in a cab again, headed back to Baker Street. It’s been two days since the confrontation with Irene Adler, and we’ve finally worked our way through the immediate threat, dealt with all the parties, put together the missing pieces. Well, mostly Sherlock on that last part. We get a break now, before the next crisis. And we need it, both of us. I haven’t been home in days, and we’ve kept Mary out of it, mostly. For several reasons, the most obvious being how pregnant she is. 

We sit in silence, and I’m staring out the window of the cab. And I start pulling it all back up, the questions and emotions I’d set aside to get the job done. “How long?” I say, quietly, not turning from the window. I can feel the question in his gaze as he turns to look at me. “You said you didn’t realize it until it was too late. When?” 

He’s silent for a moment. And then, quietly, “The wedding.”

I bark out a mirthless laugh. “The wedding,” I repeat. “ _My_ wedding. Well, that’s typical.” I think about it for a moment, pieces falling into place. It explains a lot, that. It explains so much of what happened after.

“You always said I was an idiot.” His voice is toneless, resigned. I nod, still not looking at him. And then we’re at Baker Street, and we exit the cab. I follow him up the stairs, although I should just go home. I know I should.

In the flat, we both shrug out of our coats, and I start making tea. Giving myself something to do while I think. Everything’s finally back in order from the Janine incident, her influence over the kitchen all but erased. And I’m glad of that, though it’s silly. Nothing but a ruse, and still I couldn’t bear the remnants of her in the flat. 

Sherlock’s moving around in the sitting room, removing his suit jacket, looking over the documents on his case wall, standing on the couch, making notations. Deciding on the next plan of action. He starts doing that thing, where he talks to me, whether I’m there to listen or not, working through his deductions and decisions out loud. I smile a little, taking the kettle off the burner and starting the tea to steep. I used to see it as a sign of narcissism that he didn’t even notice if I was there when he was speaking. But it seems different now. I wonder if he still does it all the time, even though we haven’t lived together for nearly three years. And that thought’s like a punch in the gut. _It’s always you, John Watson. I have loved you…always._

I close my eyes briefly before pouring the tea, fixing us each a cup, searching the cupboards for biscuits and dropping some onto a plate. I carry it all into the front room and say his name. “Sherlock.” He turns and glances at me, then steps off the couch, taking the offered cup with a small, cautious smile. We sit in our chairs, drinking our tea, and he keeps looking back at the wall, considering. He jumps up once to make another note. I just watch him. 

When he’s settled back in his seat, I ask the other question, the one that’s been nagging at me. “And what about me, then?” He looks up at me, going still. “How long have you known how _I_ felt?” Because he does, I’ve realized. Of course he does. When I continue, my voice is low. “Did you know before you let me believe you were dead for two years?” 

He watches me quietly, setting his tea aside. “I didn’t even realize I was your best friend, John. I think it was that revelation that…opened the door to the rest of it.” 

I nod again. I can’t seem to do anything else. And I know it’s a defense mechanism, I know it is, but the pain makes me angry, and I grind my teeth against it. Trying to be reasonable. 

“And then you just put it all together.” This comes out slightly more sarcastically than I would have liked.

“And then I just put it all together,” he agrees quietly.

“And then suddenly you knew.” My voice is calmer this time.

“And then suddenly I knew.” He’s very still, and he looks ready for a punch in the face.

“ _Suddenly_ ,” and here I look at the ceiling, because I need the distance. “You realized that we were in love with one another and that my new wife was pregnant. Is that about how it went?” I look back at him.

He picks up his tea and takes a sip. “Essentially, yes.” 

I look away and nod, clearing my throat, my eyes stinging. “Right.” 

I take a deep breath and let my head fall back against the chair. We’re silent for a long while, and I close my eyes. When I speak, it’s barely more than a whisper. “I’m sorry, Sherlock.” 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, John.” He sounds like he means it, but that doesn’t make it true. 

“Yeah, I do.” And that’s all I can get out. I can’t say the rest. Can’t admit what a coward I was, the lies I told myself. “I should go.”

I stand and walk to my coat, not looking at him as I put it on. I’m nearly to the door when he speaks. 

“John.” I stop, turn to face him. He stays where he’s seated, and it seems like miles between us rather than a few feet. He looks very controlled, and I hate that about him.

“John, I can’t ask you to choose me, and I don’t expect it. Please believe that. You have another life now, and I don’t want to…disrupt it.” His composure slips a bit by the end, and he squeezes his eyes shut. When he looks at me again, they’re red, and he’s shaking slightly. He comes to his feet like he didn’t quite mean to but then stays where he is and shoves his hands in his pockets, looking away. After a few breaths, he looks back at me, and the façade is gone. And suddenly we’re both on the verge of tears, and I’m struggling to keep myself under control as he continues. “But I’m no good without you, John. I don’t—“ His voice breaks, and it’s too much. Jesus, he’s done enough.

“Sherlock.” My own voice breaks, and I look at the ceiling, struggling to speak. I look back at him and shake my head. “I’m not going… _anywhere_. I’m not leaving you in the middle of a war. I won’t abandon you just because my…heart’s broken.” I can barely breathe around the pain in my chest, but I have to say this. He needs it, and I’ve been too much of a coward to tell him the truth so many times. “You are still my _best friend_ and my partner, and _of course_ I will be here. Of course I will.” We’re both fully in tears now, and I can’t do this anymore. I can’t look at him across the room, and I can’t go to him, and I have to leave. 

I nod at him and give him a smile that feels like more of a grimace, and he nods back and whispers, “Thank you, John.” 

And I turn and leave the flat, drying my eyes as I walk down the stairs. When I hit the street, I walk rather than hailing a cab, because I need it. I need to calm myself down, get under control before I go home. 

Home to my lying wife, whom I don’t trust, who I can barely stand to sleep beside, who can’t know what’s happened. Because I like Sherlock with his heart beating, and I intend to keep him that way.

**Author's Note:**

> I promise they'll be okay. Just give them time.
> 
> Note that I'm changing my pseud on my Johnlock fic so tumblr followers can find me.


End file.
